I Feel Like I'm Standing In A Graveyard
by PeridotWraith3
Summary: Tom Riddle has no interest in soulmates, and Harry just wants to die already. Tom/Harry
1. Chapter 1

"Truly, Rosier, you can't possibly think this will work for you!"

Tom examined the crystal ball in his hand looking for an image in the smoke. Anything.

"Shut it, Lestrange! Of course I can!"

Honestly, Tom wondered if anyone has ever truly seen something in one of these pieces of junk. A placebo? Surly, if he couldn't see the future, no one could.

"It takes a preposterous amount of magic. Your core would be ripped to pieces—and that's only if you get it to work."

"Not you too, Nott!"

Tom was growing irritated as the smoke remained obstinately smoky and his 'friends' grew louder with their bickering. He lifted his gaze to find Rosier, Lestrange and Nott huddled around a decaying tome. From the look of it, it was something out the restricted section or possibly from one of their family's collection.

"What exactly are you three talking about?" Tom asked, more to get his mind off his Divination homework than out of curiosity.

Rosier seemed to chew on his words a moment. Lestrange and Nott traded glances.

"I'm to marry Cassiopeia Goyle." Rosier said. "In a year, after graduation."

Tom raised a brow at the seemingly random statement.

"I want to marry for love."

Nott huffed out a laugh. Lestrange got a strange pinched look on his face, as if he wanted to agree with Rosier but he knew it would never happen. Pureblooded society was one of arranged marriages and power plays. Love had no place among their world of dark magic and high stakes, especially as Riddle's followers, The Knights of Walpurgis.

"For love?" Riddle mused, "Whatever for?"

"Why curse myself to a home life of constant struggle and conflict? You know Cassiopeia, she's as mean as mean gets. Strong blood, pure… but she'd not bow to my will in a thousand years. I have no interest in that tedium. But with this," Rosier thumped a hand against the tome, sending up a cloud of dust, "I can summon my Heartbound, and even my father can't deny me when faced with magic that ancient and powerful."

Tom had secretly agreed with Rosier—married life held no appeal to him either. But it was the mention of Heartbounds that really caught his attention. It was a term he had come across once and only once before, though he had scoured the library—both the school's and Slytherin's secret collection—for any more information. He had read the passage over and over, so many times that he could recite it still.

Though there is no way to regain soul fragments after the creation of a Horcrux, there is a rumor of a woman, Sanguinna of the Bloody Briar, whom kept the madness at bay by finding and bonding with her Heartbound. There was no documented proof, but theoretically the soul healing and augmenting abilities of Heartbound couples could lighten a Horcrux's consequences.

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to Tom in his haste to find more information about Heartbounds to simply ask his friends.

"Oh?" Tom asked, barely able to keep his curiosity in check, "Tell me about Heartbounds, I haven't heard the term before."

"That's unsurprising really," Lestrange said, "It's a sort of obscure bit of wizarding lore. Honestly, I hardly believe in them."

"Yeah," Nott agreed, "Father used to yell at my Mother when she told me about Heartbound legends. Something about filling my head up with romantic nonsense. Like I enjoyed the stories for the romance! It was the power they held I was enticed by."

"Power?" Tom egged on, trying not to snap at them to get to the point.

"Oh, yeah. Heartbounds are two people with matching magical cores and are of the same soul. It's pretty rare to find them, like it only happens once or twice every five hundred years." Rosier said, "It's an incredible honor to have Fate allow you to find yours. Very respectable. Most Heartbound pairs become legend."

"Simply for having matching cores?"

"Not really. It's what they do with those matching cores. Great things. Impossible things. When the magical cores of two people match they—um, like, they resonate?" Nott said, unsure how to word it.

"It's like when two people of different cores work together on a spell, their magic is added together," Lestrange explained, "But when they match, their power is multiplied together. Exponential power, little effort. The same soul bit helps too."

"How so?"

"They are made for each other. Literally, two pieces of the same soul. Perfect for each other in every way. Like Arthur and Merlin."

"Were they Heartbound?" Tom asked.

"Some say they were. It would make sense." Nott shrugged.

"Let me get this straight." Tom said, turning to Rosier, "You are going to summon your magical soulmate that may or may not exist, so you don't have to marry Cassiopeia Goyle."

"Basically."

"Except it won't work." Lestrange added.

"Not a chance." Nott agreed.

"It will!" Rosier retorted.

"Why won't it work? Surly, it will take about as much magic as apparition? You are only transporting them to you."

"In theory, it will take as much magic as summoning them and even more to defy fate. The book even warns for the user to only perform on the Hunter's Moon, when their magic is most potent!"

"May I?" Tom asked, gesturing towards the book.

"Have a look." Rosier replied, holding the book out to him.

Tom balanced the crystal ball he still held in one hand and took the book in the other. The second his eyes meet the page a great ringing in his ears began and his vision went dark. Then, he saw a mess of black hair and vivid green eyes, staring into his soul.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." He heard a voice hiss, fiery and furious, "It's always you, isn't it?"

Then, as soon as it came, it was gone again and he was left back in the library, a crystal ball in one hand and a decrepit ritual book in the other and the strange feeling that those eyes were familiar to him.

"Riddle?!" His followers were demanding, "Are you alright?!"

Tom blinked for a moment before catching the last wisps of startling green fading from the smoke in his crystal ball.

"Hmm. No worries." Tom calmed them, "Just a vision of the future."

"Maybe you should try that ritual then, Riddle." Avery suggested from beside him. Tom had forgotten he was there, he was so quiet. Truly, a model follower.

"What did you See?" Lestrange asked, "I've never been able to divine anything with those blasted things!"

"Nothing of consequence." Tom dismissed, "But may I borrow this? It seems to have a fair few interesting rituals in it."

"Sure," Rosier agreed easily, "I've a few months till the Hunter's Moon anyway."

Tom nodded, and returned to his Divination homework. Though he was writing an essay, his thought were a storm of green eyes and hissed words. He eyed the tome now sat upon his school bag.

He had no use for a soulmate. But unlimited power and prestige? Not to mention that this person's presence could alleviate the consequences of his plan to make multiple Horcruxes. Truly, this person would be more useful than any of his Knights. Yes, Tom had no need for a soulmate.

However, every Dark Lord needed a right hand man.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom had months to prepare for the Hunter's Moon and the ritual, but when the warm mid-October night had come, he felt restless. Though he knew everything he would need to say and do—he'd long since memorized the ritual and returned the tome—he felt a strange sense of performance anxiety. He knew he would succeed, but he still felt the nervousness he had when he created his first two Horcruxes. This was practically his soulmate he was dealing with.

Much like his soul fragments, he did not take it lightly. Whomever his Heartbound was, they belonged to him, utterly and wholly. Tom took care of his possessions.

 _I've never owned someone's life before_ , Tom thought, _How exciting!_

Though Tom tried to convince himself that he didn't need nor desire affection, he could help but be thrilled to meet someone who would match him so perfectly. Understand him so fully.

They would be Tom's follower, but they would be a most beloved follower. A prize to be coveted and admired. His greatest treasure.

When it was time, sneaking out of the castle and into the Forbidden Forest was simple. Easy bordering on boring. Tom made his way to the clearing he had prepared quickly, ignoring the brilliantly colored leaves. It was surrounded by rowan tree on three side and running water to the east. A place of power. The ritual ring had already been drawn in chalk powder and preserved with a charm. Tom took out the colored candle and placed them in the correct spots before moving to the center where he placed a small iron bowl.

Next, Tom light the candles with a nonverbal ' _incendio_.'

The chanting came almost effortlessly to him. The ritual drawing at his magic almost playfully, filling him with warmth and peace. When he came to a stopping point, Tom pulled out his offering.

It was an ornate Seeing Stone he had found in the Chamber. Priceless surely, but as a bonding memento, Tom's Heartbound would only have the best. He dropped it the iron bowl, then drew a silver knife across his palm. Seven drops of blood. No more, no less.

He started chanting again, feeling a more firm tug at his magic this time. It seemed to fill the ring, dancing along his skin and lingering on his tongue. Another tug. And suddenly there was bare feet on the other side of the bowl. He faltered briefly in the chanting as he started, glancing up to green eyes.

" _Tom_." He greeted tiredly, his voice not but a whisper in the night.

There was a sudden jolt, and the magic vanished from the clearing along with any trace of the man. Tom stiffened as he felt a sudden wave of nausea and exhaustion slam into him.

"No!" Tom hissed, "No!"

What had happened? What had failed?

"Tom?" Came a voice behind him, familiar and not at all welcome.

Tom turned slowly to meet eyes, though not the green ones he yearned for.

Harry just wanted his friends to stay dead.

Or rather, Harry just wanted his dead friends' ghost to leave him be. Perhaps if they had been like the ghosts of Hogwarts… But they weren't. Harry blamed the Resurrection Stone.

This morning, it was Fred. He was just as battle-worn and blood soaked as he had been when he died, still wearing that grin. Instead of happy, it just matched his ever-open hollow eyes in a way that made him look eerily deranged. He stood silently at the end of his bed, still and staring blankly ahead at the wall above Harry's headboard.

Harry enjoyed the silent days the most. It was easy to ignore them when they were silent—easy to put on a smile and pretend everything was fine. It was always harder to convince Ron and Hermione of his sound mental state when all he could focus on was the horrific screams that followed him around. The worst, though, had to be the muttering. Seemingly easy to ignore at first, Harry could cope until the words whispered into his ear—their final words, no less—like a broken record, over and over and over and over—

" _I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—_ "

-until it drove him mad. He remembered the first time he had a panic attack because of it. Screaming and crying and begging Cedric to just shut up for the love of god while the ghost just chanted " _Wands out, d'you reckon?_ " back at him mockingly until he had finally passed out from hyperventilating on the kitchen floor. He had woken to Sirius' howling in the corner and decide that he could deal with the screams as long as he didn't have to hear any more final words.

The silence from Fred's end was a rare blessing. A sign of a good day to come, surly.

It helped that his dreams had been pleasant. Though he couldn't remember everything he did recall a forest in the height of autumn, the taste of magic on his tongue and the heavy scent of cedar and basil.

He stretched and pointedly didn't looking in the wraith's direction while he got out of bed. As he got up he heard the light thunk of something falling to the floor. When he glanced down, he saw a flash of silver roll under the bed. Summoning up the curiosity to retrieve the item, he sunk down to his knees and reached under the bed to grab at the object. When he closed his hand around it he pulled himself back up only to find a face just inches from his.

Harry jerked back in surprise and squeaked. Fred grinned at him.

"Nothing will keep you from the pranks, not even death, huh?" He grumbled.

Fred grinned at him. Harry looked away.

He turned his attention down to the thing he had retrieved. A silver pendant, hung from thick velvet string. The piece slightly larger than a walnut and was made up of a serpent wrapped around and what looked like a flattened opal marble. Upon further inspection, Harry noticed the snake was swallowing its own tail. An Ouroboros then. The design of the piece had him wandering if it might be a seeing stone.

It was decidedly intricate and perhaps even grandiose.

What had it been doing in his bed?

Harry gave a brief suspicious look at Fred. Fred grinned him. Harry decided that it probably wasn't him. He shrugged and pocketed the piece. He would look into it later. After coffee.

Besides, the war was over. There was no rush, no hurry to figure things out. He had his whole life ahead of him, wide and empty of purpose.

It was actually good that this delightful little mystery had come into his life. It gave him a reason to get up and do something. Perhaps take a trip to Diagon Alley to have it appraised. Sell it. Keep it. Mostly, just figure out where it came from.

After coffee, he'd figure it out.

"Professor!" Tom exclaimed in genuine surprise.

How had he not felt Slughorn approaching? Surely, he would have felt it even if the man had dismantled them. He reached out his magic to feel for his wards, but was meet with nothing but a feeble fizzle of response. Just how much magic could it have taken? Despite Tom's massive amount of magic and his powerful core it had almost drained him dry.

"Tom, my boy! What in Merlin's name are you doing out here at this time of night? In a ritual ring, no less!"

Tom pushed back the panic at being caught and began to assess his options. He had no lie to tell, but a half truth was always best anyway. Slughorn favored him anyway. He could spin this his way, easily.

"Professor! I was, uh… I was trying—failing I guess is more accurate—to summon someone important." Tom acted the part of a slightly chagrined teen perfectly.

"You know the rules, Tom! The forest is forbidden to students. Especially at night." Slughorn said reluctantly, as if he didn't want to admonish Tom, but knew he should.

"Yes, Professor. I'm sorry."

"Honestly, what were you even think—is that cedar I smell?"

"Cedar and basil, yes." Tom admitted.

"Oh!" Slughorn said, straightening up, "Tom, my boy, this wasn't a love spell, was it? You know they are very dangerous!"

"No, no! Nothing like that, sir!" Tom denied, "I was trying to… well, that is…"

Slughorn took in the embarrassed look on Tom's face, the dark forest and the noticeable lack of Tom's close friends. Perhaps, he decided, this calls for some of the famous Slytherin discretion.

"Don't worry, my boy," Slughorn told him, "I won't be turning you in to Headmaster Dippet this time. But do tell me what you were up to, for my peace of mind at least. At most, I may be able to offer advice."

Tom considered the fact that Slughorn may actually hold the key to his failed ritual.

"You see, Rosier showed me this ritual to summon one's Heartbound to them and—"

"Heartbound!" Slughorn exclaimed, "That's a lofty goal for certain!"

"I know that, sir, but I couldn't help but hope…"

"I understand my boy. We all long for a connection like that. Perfectly natural, that curiosity of yours!" Slughorn assured him, "Though I'm not sold on the existence of such a perfect match."

Tom put on a look of crushed hope.

"Worry not, young man!" Slughorn went on quickly, "I will help you revise the ritual. Perhaps a few tweaks will have things working in your favor. After all, if anyone could find their Heartbound this way, it would be you!"

"You think so?"

"Absolutely! Now, let's pick this mess up and get you back to the castle. I hope you don't mind accompanying me on the rest of my ingredient hunt. That's why I'm out here you see. I've yet to find the bloodroot or any wit—"

Tom tuned out the rest of the professor's words as unimportant while he went about gathering his candles. What had gone wrong? Why had he failed? He had spent a huge amount of magic and there was no denying what he felt, what he'd heard… But he briefly entertained the idea that perhaps Heartbound pairs didn't exist.

Tom froze in the center of the circle.

A stone cold determination filled him. The Seeing Stone was gone. His other half was out there, somewhere.

And Tom would have them.

Harry had expected to die at the hands of Voldemort. Harry had expected to go out in a blaze of glory on the battlefield. Harry had thought perhaps he'd die cold and lonely in the woods, not a friend in the world and the Elder Wand pointed at him. Maybe he'd have even had died from some freak accident on Halloween when he luck ran the thinnest.

Harry did not expect there to be so much blood.

It bubbled out of the slit in his neck and filled his lungs. It slicked his skin and painted the hands of the woman holding him down. The woman holding the knife. Fred grinned at him from just over her shoulder.

Harry hadn't seen this coming. If he had he'd probably have avoided this back alley.

"This is for the Dark Lord and everything that could have been." She whispered fanatically, "This is for the perfect world you have deprived us from."

Harry simply let his eyes slide shut and huffed out a tired breath. Everything felt so heavy, and slowly the panic and pain faded away, until it was just Harry, a bloody knife and Fred, now staring him in the eye like no ghost had before.

"An savior for a savior, Potter!" Came the woman's voice, as if through water, distant and warbled, "An eye for an eye!"

"The whole world's blind." Fred told him from behind the woman.

Harry felt himself slipping under.

"The whole damn world." Fred told him.

And then, finally, there was rest


End file.
